


Tug

by Original_Cypher



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Werewolf!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:26:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Original_Cypher/pseuds/Original_Cypher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>At times, it's like feeling the air shift against his bare skin. Fleeting, barely there. Sometimes, it's as real and tingling as knowing someone's staring into the back of your head. It's part his new and improved werewolf senses, but it's one Derek didn't warn him about. Scott never mentioned anything like this, either.</i>
</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Also known as 'The one in which Stiles could legitimately claim “For Science!!”.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tug

At times, it's like feeling the air shift against his bare skin. Fleeting, barely there. Sometimes, it's as real and tingling as knowing someone's staring into the back of your head. It's part his new and improved werewolf senses, but it's one Derek didn't warn him about. Scott never mentioned anything like this, either.

He can tell, at all times, exactly where Derek is.

Not in the room, or the house. That he can do with his other 'basic' enhanced perceptions. No, at any chosen time, he can decide to reach out and feel precisely where the alpha is, whether Derek is standing right next to him or is sixty miles out-of-town. He doesn't even have to know where _where_ is. He would just know how to get there.

It feels like tendrils of physical sensation flowing around his body he can grasp at and pull.

“Stop it.” Derek growls from the kitchen. Stiles can picture him gripping a counter in annoyance, shoulder tensed and hunched in. He's aware he's been nothing but trouble since Derek had this giant lapse in judgment and indulged him with the bite. He knows he's challenging his friend's temper more than usual, but the novelty of his condition is fascinating. And to be truthful, very exciting.

“What?”

Derek appears in the doorway. He looks ruffled, as if he just ran hands through his hair. Oops, is Stiles literally making him pull it out? Still, as much as he's cringing inside, Stiles can't help the sudden surge of fondness that threatens to bring a smile to his face. He has a particular soft spot for imperfect Derek Hale. Although he wouldn't dare telling the other werewolf – he's pretty sure anything resembling 'fond' or 'adorable' or 'sweet' would earn him physical pain – he enjoys being able to witness those moments of sheer _humanity_ , and files them away greedily. Like the other day when Derek cut himself chopping carrots and he got this pinched 'I'm so stupid I'd punch myself right now' expression that is very close to the one the Sheriff summons when he occasionally stubs his toe. Or when Derek winces because, like each and every member of his pack, he cannot wait until his coffee has cooled to a reasonable temperature to take his first sip. When he can't help an amused snort at someone's silly quip and then scowls because he likes to pretend he's above it all. When he watches Stiles and Cora bicker and think they can't see the grin that's fighting to take over his face. “You don't even know what you're doing.”

Stiles stares at Derek from across the loft. No, duh. It's why he's doing it. He's trying to figure out what he is. Predictably, he's doing research. “No. What is it? What am I doing?”

“You're reaching.”

“Yes.” Stiles says, siting up on the couch. He watches Derek with curiosity. “There's something. What is it?” He can feel it if he-...

Derek's gaze hardens. “ _Stop_ tugging.”

“Why? What is it doing?”

This time, Derek flinches, then glares. “It's _me_ , Stiles.”

“Yeah. I know, it feels like... it feels like you. What is it?” How come can Stiles feel him across... everything?

Derek visibly relaxes when Stiles lets go altogether. Agreeably, he walks closer to the cough. “It's the bond.”

“What... bond?” Stiles thinks of all the bonds he's read about and instantly crosses most of them out as fiction or 'strictly animal kingdom'. “Because you turned me?”

“Yes.” Derek hikes a butt cheek and half a thigh on the table, resting part of his weight on it. “You can call on me with it. We can feel each other if needed.”

“Like when you found me and Isaac in the woods last week? I _knew_ I'd done something.”

“Yes, like that.” Stiles tilts his head. “Stop it!”

Stiles brings his knees to his chest and braces his arms around them. Derek says nothing about sock-covered feet on the cushions. Hm. Good to know. Not that he'd expected Derek to be a neat freak or anything – he's seen where the guy's lived, it's _sad_ – but now that he actually owns stuff, he thought he'd tread carefully. “What?” he asks innocently. “You know I'm not in danger.”

“That's not what you're doing right now.” It's true, too. He can hear it in Derek's heart. It's steady. Loud, but steady. Shit, did he actually make him angry?

“... I'm not?”

Derek doesn't answer. He just levels him with a flat stare. Right.

Stiles reaches again, grasping. He gives a languid pull. Slow and steady, but firm and getting stronger. Derek growls, eyes faintly coloring, hands curling into fists by his sides. It was never said Stiles was one to make careful choices around the alpha. Why start now? "Stiles if you don't stop mentally rubbing my crotch, it's not gonna take long for me to lose my control."

Stiles gapes at him. "Oh." It's like letting go of a spring in surprise, it feels like Derek should be stumbling back with the recoil. Oh, _wow_. Awkward.

And the way Derek just... said it. Stiles reels for a beat or two.

_Holy_ crap.

His brain is a blank – which is rare, given his condition – then something clicks. Then something else. Gears start picking up speed and Stiles tilts his head thoughtfully. He can tell by the minute shift in Derek's expression and the tick in his heartbeat that the other werewolf is worried by the change in countenance of his packmate. He'd be right, Stiles concedes inwardly. His thinking usually means some kind of trouble. Usually for Derek. "Why does it only work with you? Is it because you're the alpha?" It would make sense, only Derek's inadvertent eyebrow twitch says no. Damn, Stiles is becoming Cal Lightman. That's awesome. “Is it because you're my maker... or whatever?”

Derek snorts. “No.” What? There is no word for it, it was either choosing from Buffy or True Blood lingo.

Stiles reaches again, but doesn't pull. Derekdarkens. It's been a while since he's had such an icy glower directed at him, but the cause feels a hell of a lot different today. Maybe, mostly because of virtual frottage. Of sorts. “No. No, it's not.” Stiles lightens with glee. “It's because you want it.” He grins, smile breaking wide and jubilant across his face. “You want _me_.”

Derek huffs and stomps off, but the stutter of his heart answers for him.

It feels like a now or never situation. Stiles is good under that kind of pressure. Derek stumbles to a halt when his beta yanks, _hard_ , at the bond between them. It couldn't be more deliberate. It's not an experiment this time. It's sultry and punishing. Over the past few weeks, Stiles has understood quickly the little things that made him a wolf, and put them into practice even faster. This is no exception.

Derek is probably regretting every single one of the decisions that lead them here. "Stiles!"

"So you _do_ want me.” He'd thought so, as soon as he'd been turned and started getting enhanced sensory feedback around the alpha. He'd shrugged it off as wishful thinking. But it seems he was wrong. Which means Derek willfully turned him, knowing the risk of being unmasked he was taking. He probably expects Stiles to be an adult about this. 

Fat chance. 

“Huh." He smirks as Derek turns around to glare. “Well, then.” Stiles lies back against the armrest as he was earlier, lets one of his feet fall to the ground. He tugs again, long, gentle and increasing and lifts his chin, expression not as challenging as it is lazy, eyes hooded. It has the opportune side effect of baring his neck to Derek's stare. "Come and get me."


End file.
